


The Note

by archdemonblood



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archdemonblood/pseuds/archdemonblood
Summary: The Dark Lord Grindelwald receives a message from an old friend. (Grindeldore reconciliation fic. Both post- and pre-Grindeldore.)





	1. Chapter 1

_18\. We need to talk. 99._

It was signed with an A that looked like deathly hollows symbol. Just the A.

Gellert couldn’t take his eyes off it, let alone his mind. For the better part of an hour, he ignored his breakfast, neglected his followers, and stared at that tiny slip of paper. 

Gellert Grindelwald was a man who knew _exactly_ what he wanted. He knew what he was willing to sacrifice to get what he wanted. (That was, as it turned out, _everything_.) He had plans, both short term and long term. He had followers. He had the Elder Wand. 

He had this tiny piece of parchment, and as he stared at it, he could almost taste the sweat on Albus Dumbledore’s skin on a hot July night. 

The problem, if it was a problem, was that Gellert couldn’t think of a single damn reason not to go. He wholeheartedly agreed; they did need to talk. Gellert had thought that for twenty-seven years, but he’d been young and stupid and too prideful to start the conversation himself until it was much too late. Now, Albus had started it for him, and engaging in that conversation was Gellert’s _second_ dearest desire in the world. 

Gellert was not a trusting man. First of all, he lied often, and men who lie often seldom trust. Second, he was wanted in a dozen countries for a total of somewhere in the neighborhood of 137 separate crimes, of which “murder” or “conspiracy to commit murder,” either individual or en masse, numbered about 53. He owed his life to seven countries and his soul to five more, but he didn’t intent to give either to any of them, so he wasn’t in the habit of running off after cryptic notes, which more often or not led to Auror ambushes. 

None of his followers would understand why he would do this. They would remind him that the note was “unsigned” and they’d furrow their brows and look at each other with worry when Gellert laughed in their faces. Two numbers were _not_ a verification of identity; that was a matter of fact, not an opinion, so Gellert agreed. Yet he was certain. Furthermore, he was certain that, even after twenty-seven years, Albus wouldn’t lie to him. This wasn’t a trap. That wasn’t how Albus worked.

The problem was that it was perfect. Too good to be true.

_But-_

It was the biggest, most reckless risk Gellert had ever taken.

_But he was certain._

Gellert stood up so suddenly that Krall, who’d been watching out of the corner of his eye while pretending to read the paper, actually jumped. Gellert looked at him for a moment. He knew that he shouldn’t rush into something like this without backup. He also knew that he and Albus had _a lot_ to discuss, and not all of it was for his followers’ ears. He cleared his throat and composed himself. “Watch the hideout while I’m gone. Don’t let anyone play with fire, take turns in the necromancy lab, and remember to feed the vampire.” 

Krall blinked, and then smirked. 

“I’m serious about the vampire,” Gellert said. Then he disapparated. 

The note hadn’t told Gellert how to contact Albus or where to go, but it hadn’t needed to. There was only one place to go. It was not a small task to apparate from Florence to Godric’s Hollow, but Gellert had traversed enough of Europe to know where he could rest along the way, and he had spent several days lazing about the hideout, so he had magical energy stored up. The whole trip took four apparations and just a little more than an hour, though it left Gellert slightly unsteady on his feet when he finally touched the gate of the Dumbledore residence. 

As Gellert pushed the gate open, the front door of the old house also opened, and out walked Albus Dumbledore. “You might as well stay there,” Albus said. “You’re never coming back into this house.” 

Gellert sighed. “Very well.” He left the gate open, for Albus, but moved away from it, and leaned over the fence. 

“You look tired,” Albus said, strolling down the path of the decrepit garden. “Did you have to travel very far?”

“You already know the answer to that,” Gellert said. 

Albus nodded. When he got to the gate, he too moved to the side without going through the gate, and leaned against the fence on his own side, barely a food away from Gellert, separated only by a peeling wood fence that barely came past their waists. Yet they both understood that they need it. That right now, it would be impolite to come any closer to each other.

Albus didn’t look at Gellert. He looked back at his childhood home, and set his jaw. “I want to help you.”

“Until the next time we fight,” Gellert said softly, “and you disappear for three decades again?”

“ _My sister died._ You didn’t even apologize.” 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” The words were easier to say than Gellert had thought they would be. 

Albus didn’t relax. If anything, he tensed further. 

“Albus--” 

“I heard you.” Albus shook his head. “I just... I don’t know if I can forgive you. But I do want to help you.”

Gellert knew better than to point out that Aberforth had started the fight. Gellert had escalated it. He could easily have disarmed Aberforth and been done with it, but he’d been angry. Gellert got _so angry_ sometimes that he saw red. That was what had _really_ gotten Gellert expelled. Albus knew that, now. He knew it better than Gellert himself did. 

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Gellert said. He listened to the autumn wind blow dead leaves across the street. “But I _do_ have to trust you. It’s not just about us anymore. Not for me. So tell me: Why contact me now?”

Albus snorted. “ _You’re_ lecturing _me_ about responsibility? Life has a funny way of working out.” 

Albus was trying to sound angry, but Gellert heard the pain the anger was masking. “Answer the question, please.”

Albus kicked at the dirt and the long-dead grass. “You broke three of your men out of the Japanese wizards’ prison.” 

“I did,” Gellert confirmed. He wasn’t going to apologize for that one; he wasn’t sorry. 

“It made a lot of the other prisons nervous,” Albus explained. “They all dealt with it in different ways; France heightened security on its prisons, the MACUSA commuted the sentence of anyone connected to you to immediately death...” 

Albus didn’t see it, but Gellert cringed. He’d lost two people. And one person who, sadly, had actually not been in any way connected to Gellert, though MACUSA would never have taken _Gellert’s_ word for that. 

“In Azkaban, everyone convicted of anti-muggle crimes got the dementor’s kiss.” 

Albus waited, and it dawned on Gellert in just a few seconds. “Your father,” he said. He turned toward Albus, coming closer but still not touching, not ready to feel Albus pull away. “Albus, I’m so sorry--” 

“You didn’t do that.” Albus’ voice was clear and cold, and it cut the air like a knife. “They did. And I don’t know if I can forgive you, but I _have_ to destroy them.” Now Albus turned, and he looked Gellert in the eyes. “I would give myself to the devil if he promised me he would tear down Azkaban and gut the Ministry for Magic. You’re the gentler alternative. So no. I’m not going to leave the next time we fight. I think we might be fighting now. But my magic, my mind, and anything else you want from me are yours.” 

Gellert nodded slowly. 

Albus’ voice softened. “I know I left. Everything you have, you built on your own. I don’t expect things to be the way we discussed. I--” 

“Albus, I wouldn’t dream of bossing your around like you were one of _them_.” A moment after he spoke, Gellert realized how harsh he had sounded. He sighed and tried to correct himself: “My followers are talented, intelligent, loyal people, but they’re not... _You’re_ not... not one of them. You’ll do this by my side or not at all.”

Albus curled his lips around his teeth, then nodded. “We’re still fighting,” he said. 

Gellert nodded. “I’ll just assume that’s a constant state of being until you tell me otherwise.” This, he realized, was a type of fighting with Albus that he could stomach much more easily than their previous type of fighting.

Albus nodded. He turned, and he walked back over to the gate. This time, he went through it, and he leaned against Gellert’s side of the fence, still a comfortable distance away, but on Gellert’s side. “I quit my job at Hogwarts,” he said. “I’m sorry. Maybe it would have been useful. I just couldn’t do it anymore.” 

Gellert shrugged. “You couldn’t really be by my side if you were at Hogwarts, could you?” 

The corners of Albus’ mouth twitched up. “A fair point. So where do we go first?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus returns to Nurmengard with Gellert, and they deal with their followers’ reactions to their new alliance.

**Authors note** : Alright. Before we get started, let me make a few things clear: 

First: 90% of this fic is fueled by nostalgia for the old “Harry joins Voldemort” fics people used to write in the 2000s. If you don’t like those, you probably won’t like where this is going. It’s self-indulgent as fuck.

Second: The only things from Crimes of Grindelwald that should be considered canon here are that everyone went to Paris and Queenie and Credence joined Grindelwald. Leta is alive, Antonio the chupacabra is alive, Credence is not a Dumbledore (because I don’t even know how to explain that), and Newt’s niffler never stole the bloodpact, the existence of which I may or may not choose to include in this fic. There were simply too many loose threads in CoG for me to make it work here, so while I have seen it and will reference a few things from it, in general we should assume that this fic went AU before the events of CoG (though it takes place after them) and nothing from CoG happened unless I specifically mention that it happened. The events of Fantastic Beasts will all be considered canon here.

Third: Grindeldore is end-game in this fic, but they’re not in a relationship until they’re in a relationship. This fic features multiple side-pairings and pansexual Gellert Grindelwald. Don’t yell at me later.

Understood? Cool.

~*~

When they stepped into the dining room at Nurmengard, a dark haired woman whom Albus didn’t know dropped her coffee on the floor. Even the elf that came to clean up the mess saw Albus and paused for a moment before doing her job.

“Gellert…” the woman said with a frozen smile. “Albus Dumbledore is standing right behind you.” 

Gellert smirked. “I know. I let him in.” 

“It’s really him, then?” 

“It certainly is.” 

The woman flexed her fingers, as if she wanted to reach for something--her wand, most likely--but was restraining herself. “Did you enchant him?” she asked, in a tone that said she already knew the answer. 

“If I am permitted to speak for myself...” Albus said.

“Always,” Gellert assured him. 

“I have not been enchanted.” Albus flashed his most charming smile. “Don’t worry; I’m not here to fight you, Ms…?”

“Vinda Rosier,” the woman said, accepting his offer to shake hands. As she did so, she looked over Albus’ shoulder at Gellert, with wide, stunned eyes. 

Gellert reached up and tapped the Deathly Hallows symbol on his necklace twice. “Time for a team meeting,” he told Albus. 

Albus braced himself for the sound of people apparating, but it didn’t come. Instead, roughly a dozen people slowly walked through the door into the kitchen. 

“Do they all live here?” Albus asked Gellert quietly.

“Of course not!” Gellert wiped the fake-shocked look off his face, then smiled. “Just my favorites.” 

Gellert’s followers of course noticed Albus standing there as they walked in, and immediately began to speculate with each other about what was going on. By the time the last of them entered, there was a steady murmur that Gellert would have had to shout over to be heard. He attempted to shush them, but only the few in the front seemed to notice. 

Albus held up a hand, looked at the people in the back sternly, and calmly said, “We’ll wait.” 

The room was quiet in under ten seconds. 

“My friends,” Gellert said, “today is a monumental day. Our greatest enemy has become our greatest ally. Albus Dumbledore and I are joining forces. From this day forward, we are partners against the tyranny of the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Any questions?” Albus asked. 

Every hand in the room went up. 

“Vinda?” Gellert said. 

Rosier smiled. “Do we have to obey him?” 

“Good question,” Gellert said. “Yes. Krafft?”

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” 

Albus was prepared to answer that question, but Gellert beat him to it: 

“Crucio.” 

“Gellert!” Gellert only held the curse for a second. Albus didn’t know if he had always planned for it to be brief or if he stopped because Albus called out. 

“Calm down,” Gellert said, giving a sideways glance to Albus. Then, he looked back at his followers. “ _All of you_ , calm down. Trust me. I’ve gotten you this far, have I not?”

His followers nodded.

“Now, does anyone have questions that are _not_ about questioning my decisions?”

This time, only one hand went up. 

“Queenie?” Gellert said with a smile. 

A blonde woman sitting near the middle of the crowd looked at Albus, not at Gellert. “Since you’re here now, will Newt be coming?” 

“That…” Albus said, “is a fascinating question. It was Queenie, wasn’t it? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We haven’t,” Queenie said. “But my sister, Tina, she and Newt are…” She trailed off, and then looked down at her manicured nails. “Anyway, we all met in New York, and since everyone says that Newt is a follower of yours, I was hoping that maybe…” 

“I think it would be wonderful to bring Scamander here,” Gellert said, looking at Albus hungrily. 

Albus hesitated. “We’ll talk about that,” he told Gellert. He looked back at Queenie. “Right now, I can’t give you a yes or a no. It’s _possible_ , but far from guaranteed. I apologize.”

Queenie frowned for a moment, then forced a smile back onto her lips. “Well, thanks anyway. Tell me when you know for sure.” 

“Certainly.” 

There were no more questions after that, so Gellert adjourned the meeting, leaving the two of them alone. 

“I won’t hurt Scamander, you know,” Gellert said once they were alone. “He was acting on your orders. If I’m burying the hatchet with you, I’m burying it with him.” 

Albus actually chuckled. “That’s the trouble, though: He’s _not_ mine. Not in the way that they,” he gestured vaguely to the door, implying all of the people who’d gone through it, “are yours.” 

“Oh?” Gellert sounded completely unconvinced. “Was it not you who sent him to New York? And to Paris?” 

Albus sighed. “I can usually get him to do what I want with some gentle coaxing, but this may be too big an ask for him, and I _can’t_ simply summon him and demand that he do what I want and face the consequences, like you did with your people.” 

“Why not?” Gellert asked. He didn’t give Albus time to object. “He’s not your student anymore, Albus. You’re not _managing_ him. You ought to be commanding him like a soldier.” 

“But he _isn’t_ a soldier.” 

Gellert was looking at him like the solution to this problem was obvious. 

“What would you have me do?” Albus asked, not wanting to play this game any longer. 

“Meet with him,” Gellert said simply. “Explain the situation and ask him to join you—us—formally. If he accepts, bring him back here.” 

“And if he refuses?” Albus asked. “Frankly, that seems the more likely outcome.” 

“Let him go,” Gellert said. Then he looked away. “Or kill him, if you think that’s necessary.” 

“You think I should kill him?” Albus couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice. 

“ _No_ ,” Gellert said firmly. “I think you should kill him _if **you** think you should kill him_. I trust your judgement. But know that if he refuses, it will likely come to that sooner or later anyway.” 

Albus put his hands on the table and leaned on it for support. “You’re right,” he said. “It would come to that eventually, and I can’t let that happen. He needs to come here. I just have to figure out how…” 

“What does he want?” Gellert said casually, looking at Albus once again. 

“Pardon?” 

“ _Everyone_ wants something, Albus. One thing for which they will give up all other things in their life. What is Scamander’s?” 

“Oh. That’s easy. He wants protection for his beasts.” Albus found himself pacing the width of the room. This was an old habit that didn’t phase Gellert in the slightest. “I could offer him that. I still don’t know if he’d accept, though. What you have to understand about Newt is that he can become quite fixated on certain ideas. He doesn’t always react well to sudden changes in plan. Even if I offer him everything he wants, he’ll need time to warm up to the idea, and that’s not something I can give him in one meeting.” 

“You can’t show your hand and then arrange to meet with him again unless he’s definitely on our side,” Gellert said. “It would be too easy for him to arrange an ambush.” 

“You’re right.” Albus made a decision. He stopped pacing and sighed. “Good news, Gellert.” 

“Oh?” Gellert was trying to look only casually interested, but Albus hadn’t forgotten his earlier look of hunger. He wanted Newt Scamander. 

“You get to have the moral high ground,” Albus said, “for the first and very likely last time in our partnership.” 

Gellert grinned. “What are you going to do?” 

“Something that you don’t do,” Albus said. “I’m going to kidnap him.” 

~*~

Newt had bought a Yiddish phrasebook, because Tina spoke Yiddish (“ _Some_ Yiddish,” she’d said.) and he wanted to understand her if she used it in her letters. Or maybe he’d slip some in his, and it would make her smile. He wouldn’t be able to see it, of course, but he liked to think of her smiling when she read his letters.

So far, though, the only phrase he could keep in his head was “Ikh hob dikh lib,” and he couldn’t write that. He liked to imagine her saying it, though; the shape that her mouth would take around the syllables and the soft way the sounds would come out of her mouth, like the coo of a contented hippogriff.

He put the phrasebook down when he heard an owl pecking at his window. Perhaps that was Tina’s latest letter now. 

The owl at the window wasn’t Tina’s, though. It was a long-eared owl, and Tina’s was a screech owl. Newt opened the window and let it in, and noticed a small parcel tied to its leg, without any accompanying letter. 

Odd, but maybe it would make sense when he saw what it was. He took the parcel and opened it carefully—and even more carefully when he saw what it was.

A shining silver occamy egg. Now that his book was published, people sometimes sent him magical creatures they could not or chose not to take care of. Newt reached out and touched it very carefully to check its temperature, and as soon as soon as he’d ensured that the egg was still viable, he felt a tug behind his navel. 

Newt hated the feeling of a portkey when he was expecting it. Being surprised by it was deeply unpleasant. He couldn’t let go of the egg, though, or he’d risk splinching—not to mention shattering the egg and killing the occamy inside it, which was nearly ready to hatch. There was nothing for it but to let it carry him wherever it was going to carry him, and find his way back from there. 

When the world stopped spinning, he was in a luxurious bedroom filled with gold and white decor. He didn’t recognize it in the slightest. He wasn’t at Hogwarts. The gold reminded him of the Hufflepuff dormitory, but it was clearly a different room. It was much too rich for Tina or Jacob’s flats. Theseus and Leta could maybe have afforded something like this in their master bedroom, but Newt had seen their bedroom when he went over for dinner and Leta gave him a tour. It was done in green and blue. 

So where was he, and who had brought him here?

Newt pocketed the occamy egg. His body heat would help the occamy get comfortable enough to hatch, and if he was lucky, the portkey would reactivate and take him home. 

He waited a minute. He felt the occamy stirring inside of its shell, but the portkey did not reactivate.

After five minutes, it was clear the portkey was not going to reactivate, and the egg hatched. Newt let the occamy slither up on to his wrist, and he pulled the shells out of his pocket and placed them on the nightstand. 

There were three doors and a large window in the room. The window looked out over a snow-capped mountain range. Newt didn’t know enough about mountains for that to be helpful in determining his location. One of the doors was a double sliding door that probably led to a closet. The other two doors were identical single white doors on opposite ends of the room. 

Newt walked to the closer of the two doors and opened it.

It led to a bathroom, just as luxurious as the bedroom, and just as unhelpful as the mountains. 

Newt closed that door and tried the other one, only to find that it was locked from the other side. He tried every lockpicking spell he knew, and all of them failed, and then he turned to the window. He was just about to attempt to blast through it when the door behind him opened. 

“Please don’t break anything,” Albus Dumbledore’s voice said from behind Newt.

Newt relaxed slightly and turned around. 

“I’m in a somewhat delicate position here,” Dumbledore said casually, “and destroyed property wouldn’t be helpful.”

Newt stared at Dumbledore for a moment. “I don’t like portkeys,” he said. “Especially surprise portkeys. And if the occamy had started hatching while we were in transit, you could have really hurt her.”

“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore said. “I’m sorry about all of this, and I hope that eventually you forgive me.”

Newt sighed. “What do you want?” he asked. “Is it Grindelwald again?”

Dumbledore began to speak, but stopped himself. There was a pain on his face that Newt was not accustomed to. 

“It is,” came a voice from the door. “But not like you’re thinking.”

It was Gellert Grindelwald’s voice.

A moment later, Grindelwald stepped into the room. His hands were raised as if in surrender, but that did nothing to make Newt feel more at ease. He pulled out his wand, pointed it at Grindelwald—

—and watched it fly out of his hand and into Dumbledore’s.

“No,” Dumbledore said calmly. 

Newt stared at him with wide eyes. “You’re not Dumbledore,” he said. “You can’t be.”

Dumbledore looked away, but he pressed _Newt’s_ wand to his temple and said, clearly, “Revelio.” 

Nothing about his appearance changed. 

Newt stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Relax, Scamander,” Grindelwald said. “You’re here as a guest of one of my oldest friends. You’re not in any danger.”

Newt wasn’t listening. He was looking around the room frantically for an escape, knowing that he couldn’t possibly rush past Dumbledore and Grindelwald and make it out the door, considering what he might do if he broke the window and made it out onto the mountain, wondering if there was anyone around who would respond to cries for help.

“I can tell you’re not ready to listen, so…” Dumbledore pocketed Newt’s wand. “Let’s just say that I’ll return that to you after class. I’ll be back to talk later.”

“And, for the record, nothing in this room is breakable by physical force,” Grindelwald said. Unlike Dumbledore, he _did_ meet Newt’s eyes. “I’m sorry about our previous conflicts, and I’m sorry that extreme methods have proven necessary now. Please, try to relax. If you want anything—food, or perhaps to have more of your creatures brought to you—simply summon the elf. Her name is Tibby.”

And with that, Dumbledore and Grindelwald left the room.

~*~

Albus sighed as Gellert closed the door behind them.

“I think this is going well,” Gellert said with a smile. 

“Is it?” Albus said flatly.

“Yes!” Gellert said, and he seemed to actually believe it. “My people reacted to you turning up here better than I expected. It took very little to calm them. As for Mr. Scamander, you said he’d need time, and now he can have as much as he needs. Don’t torture yourself for kidnapping him; we both know you saved his life.”

Albus waved the words off. “Come now, Gellert. You have the moral high ground. You should be enjoying it while it lasts, not comforting me.”

“I have the moral high ground all the time.” Gellert was looking at Albus curiously. There was something in his eyes that might _almost_ have been nervousness. “It’s not exciting for me anymore.”

“Really? All the time?”

“Most governments make it _very_ easy, Albus.”

“Right.” Albus shut his eyes for a moment and took a breath, just to ground himself. “That is why I’m here.” 

Gellert stared at him sadly for a moment. “Would you like a distraction?” he asked. 

Albus looked at him.

“Don’t be so suspicious! I _know_ you’re still angry. I was going to offer to show you my research on the Peverell family.”

And so Albus found himself in the second largest library he had ever been in—the largest domestic one, if Nurmengard could be called a domestic residence—looking at a large magical family tree that Gellert had summoned in the middle of the floor.

“Ignotus’ line is still lost in Godric’s Hollow,” Gellert explained, though Albus could clearly see that, “but I’ve been able to trace Cadmus’ line fully. It disappears into daughters once a century or so, but I can always find the thread again. All the way too…” Gellert’s hands traded the branches of the family tree, until they settled on the last cluster of names.

“You’re kidding.” He wasn’t. Gellert joked often, but he wasn’t joking about this. “ _Them_?”

“Them,” Gellert said flatly. “I’m certain. They were not a family that tried to _hide_ their lineage.” 

“But they’re ignorant, inbred vagrants!” The words were out before Albus could stop them. He generally tried to be kind when he spoke about others, but there wasn’t anything kind to say about the Gaunts.

“Were,” Gellert said. “They’re all dead.”

“Huh,” Albus said. “I do think I heard something about that. It’s not a problem if we act quickly, though. Have you searched their house?”

“Not yet,” Gellert said. “I was going to send someone, but now…”

“Now what?” Albus asked, with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’s changed?”

“Nothing!” Gellert said, too quickly. “I just… thought that maybe I could send a follower to do it to save time, but now I’ve realized how important it is and I’ve changed my mind. How very arrogant of you to assume it has something to do with you.”

Albus chuckled, but before he could say anything, the door to the library opened, and in walked the two women who’d spoken during the meeting earlier: Vinda and Queenie.

Vinda led the pair, and she strode down the room with purpose until she was right in front of Gellert, at which point she took his face in her hands, leaned in close, and snogged him like nobody else was in the room. 

Gellert froze for a moment, and then responded almost reflexively. He brought his own hand up to her head and pulled her in close while he brought his own tongue in.

Then, just as quickly, he drew back and pushed Vinda away. “What you doing?!” he demanded, looking from Vinda to Queenie.

Both women flinched.

“You said he wouldn’t be angry!” Queenie yelled at Vinda. 

“And you believed that obvious lie, so whose fault is this really?” Vinda responded, reaching up to fix a piece of her hair that Gellert had knocked out of place.

“I asked a question,” Gellert said dangerously.

“Vinda wanted to make sure you hadn’t been enchanted,” Queenie said. Then she looked at Vinda. “ _Which he hasn’t been_.”

Vinda sighed. “But in order for even _her_ to be sure, I had to surprise you enough to drop your guard a little.”

Gellert stared at them for a moment, and even Albus tensed. 

Then, Gellert took a deep breath. “Come here, both of you.”

After a moment of hesitation, the two women stepped within arm’s reach of Gellert, and he cupped their faces in his hands with surprising gentleness. 

“Vinda,” he said softly, “if you were anyone else…” 

“I know,” Vinda said quietly. “And I’m sorry. I just had to be certain.”

“And now you are,” he said, before turning to the other woman. “And Queenie, Vinda is right. She was obviously lying to you. Use your head.”

Queenie nodded.

“I understand that this has been an unusual day and I am in a very good mood, so I’m going to let you both walk out of this room and pretend this didn’t happen. But it can _never_ happen again. My thoughts are my own. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” both women said. 

“Good.” Gellert dropped his hands from their faces. “Leave us.”

The two women wasted no time obeying. 

“Interesting,” Albus said. “Consistent discipline is the cornerstone of classroom management. I imagine that’s also true of rebellions against the ICW.”

Gellert looked at Albus and raised an eyebrow. “You wanted me to curse them?”

“No,” Albus said. “But I didn’t want you to curse the one this morning, and you did.”

“That was different,” Gellert said, though he didn’t seem to believe it. “There was an audience. I had to make a point. Besides, the blonde one is new.”

“I don’t think you went easy on them for _her_.”

Gellert looked Albus over. “What are you implying?”

“What exactly is Vinda Rosier to you?” Albus asked. “Other than a follower.”

“A friend.” Gellert turned and began to study the Peverell family tree as if he hadn’t already memorized it. 

“The shock wore off quickly when she kissed you. And you didn’t object until you felt Queenie using legilimency on you. Are you sure she’s nothing more than a friend?”

“Nothing more, no. Though she is one of my most _intimate_ friends.”

A beat of silence. Albus tried to control his facial expression. Then, “You don’t think that could cause problems?”

“No.”

“No?”

Gellert shrugged. “She’s beautiful and willing, and a powerful witch. Why shouldn’t I enjoy her company?”

“You seem to enjoy a great deal more than her company.”

Gellert turned on his heel and looked at Albus in shock. “Albus! I’m surprised at you! To take her company out of the equation is to reduce her to an object. I can’t believe you’d talk about a woman that way! Vinda would be furious if she could hear you!”

“No!” Albus said, much too quickly. “No. I do _not_ think of women as sex objects. You know me better than that.”

Gellert laughed. “No, you certainly don’t. But it is fun to tease you and watch you get flustered. And, for the record, Vinda is actually very difficult to offend.”

“You’re avoiding the point. Is your ‘friendship’ with your followers going to be a problem?”

Gellert was still smirking smugly. “You seem very upset about me having _other_ friends, for someone who claims to not be my friend anymore.”

For about five seconds, Albus fumbled over his words, staring all the while at the smirk on Gellert’s lips.

“I just think,” he said at last, “that it could be dangerous. What you’re doing with Rosier could compromise your judgment and put everything at risk! What if—”

“I’d choose you.” Gellert wasn’t smiling now. He looked at Albus directly, with perfect calm on his face. “If, hypothetically, you wanted me to choose between my friendship with her—with all of them—and a rekindled friendship with you, I’d choose you. You need only _say_ that you want me to choose.”

“I—“ Albus said. “I’m not here to be your _friend_.”

“I know,” Gellert said. “No one comes here for that; Vinda least of all. That’s how I know she’d stay if I told her we could no longer be _friends_.” He mimicked Albus’ tone, and all that it implied, when he said the word. “I just think it’s important that we all know where we stand.”

“We do know,” Albus said. Then it was his turn to study the tree to avoid looking at his new partner. “Tell me how the Gaunts died.”


End file.
